


Piggyback rides

by jestbee



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23481400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/pseuds/jestbee
Summary: A piggyback ride ends in disaster and Phil has to get two casts. Luckily, his new friend Dan is around to lend a hand.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 55
Kudos: 175





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written to a prompt from themwhiskers on Tumblr as part of the raffle for Dan's birthday drive last year. 
> 
> It took a heck of a long time for me to start posting, and I'm sorry. This is going to be posted in several shorter parts this month.

Vodka makes Phil do stupid things. 

The lights in the hospital waiting room are super bright. Opposite him, a cute boy he'd made out with earlier in the night is sat in a plastic blue chair, tapping his foot against the metal leg. 

The only explanation for how the hell his night has turned out this way is the vodka, Phil thinks. Because it makes him do stupid things. 

Phil shifts in his seat and then winces as his hand glances against his thigh and pain shoots up his wrist.

"You okay?" 

It has to be the hundredth time he's asked that, and Phil is sick of hearing it. 

"Yes," Phil says, through gritted teeth. 

The guy, Dan, scoots down in his chair, long legs stretched into the space between them and regards him, unblinking. 

Phil doesn't know what he's still doing here. The rest of their friends buggered off when Phil fell so Dan was charged with getting him into a taxi to the hospital.

Dan looks like he's regretting the decision to come along more with every passing second.

"Fine," Phil concedes, "it hurts." 

"Which one?"

"Both of them." Phil says, glancing down at his useless, injured hands.

"D'you need anything?" Dan asks, begrudgingly. 

Dan is hot, but also a bit of an arsehole. Phil doesn't know what he'd been thinking with the whole snogging him thing. Not that Dan's personality had really been on Phil's mind at the time.

Phil could think of a few things he might like Dan to give him for the pain. _Take two and see me in the morning_ his brain supplies, and Phil snorts out loud. 

"What?" Dan asks, eyes narrowed. 

"Nothing."

"You know," Dan says, "If you hadn't— " 

Phil huffs, cutting him off. "Don't," he warns. 

He's heard this bit about a hundred times too. 

"I just— a piggyback?" Dan says, "what are we, twelve?" 

"You went along with it," Phil points out.

Dan is a friend of a friend. He doesn't really know him or the others very well and the only reason Phil had been out with them in the first place is because his roommate had gone home for the summer and Phil had been feeling stir crazy. He bumped into Shaun outside their supervisor's office and while he wouldn't usually, he'd said yes when he'd invited Phil on the night out.

He didn't realise it would devolve into snogging a cute yet arrogant prat in a dark corner and then accepting the challenge of a piggyback race down the middle of a main road, with said arrogant prat on his back.

"How much longer are they going to be?" Dan asks, like Phil knows the inner workings of the National Health Service.

Before Phil can answer with something along the lines of _I don't work here so how could I possibly know you absolute tosser_ , Dan is on his feet, striding out between the other people in the waiting room of A&E and over to the reception desk. 

Phil repositions one of his hands once again, trying to limit the amount of pain throbbing down one side of it. It isn't really working. 

Dan returns, tight in the mouth and rolling his eyes. 

"No joy?" Phil asks. 

"Shut up." 

Dan drops into the chair opposite again with a loud huff. Phil looks around the room to check who might have seen Dan's dramatic display and be judging them for it. Thankfully, they're safe.

"You don't have to be here," Phil says. 

"Well—" Dan folds his arms across his chest. "It's my fault you're here." 

"I was the one that wanted to do the piggyback race," Phil says, because he was.

Dan had been sober enough to tell him to sod off the first time Phil asked, but Phil had won him over with his powers of persuasion. Or, well, he'd leaned in and run his tongue along the sensitive skin of Dan's neck right there on the pavement, and Dan have given in just to make it stop.

"You were drunk," Dan says, as if that was all there was to it, "I shouldn't have agreed. I'm too big." 

Dan is big. He's tall and broad and his hands are— Phil sighs. 

"It was an accident," Phil insists. 

Dan narrows his eyes and one corner of his mouth lifts like he hadn't intended it. "Are you always this nice?" he says. 

"What? No?" 

"Oh god, you are. You're one of those... nice people." 

Dan looks less happy about that than he should given that he's just said Phil is a _nice_ person. 

"Is that not a good thing?" 

He doesn't get to hear Dan's answer, because just as Dan opens his mouth, pink tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip as if gearing up to say something completely devastating, a nurse calls Phil's name. 

"I'll just—" Phil says, easing himself up from the chair while trying to move his hands as little as possible. 

"Sure," Dan says, waving a dismissive hand, "don't mind me." 

Phil thinks that the wave he attempts to give Dan with the hand that hurts just a little less than the other as he disappears through the double doors will be the end of it, but an hour and a half later when Phil is preparing to leave after being prodded, poked, x-rayed, and finally put in a temporary plaster cast on both hands because he's broken his hand bone on one and the wrist on the other, Dan is still sitting in a chair by the door.

"You're still here," Phil says.

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

What Phil means to say is 'thank you' but the buzz of alcohol wore off a long time ago, and his head has been pounding along with the fracture in the bone along the outside of his hand, down near the wrist. The painkillers they'd given him have made him a little dizzy, and the scene in front of him wavy at the edges. 

"Dunno," Dan says, shrugging. 

"Well, thanks," Phil says, "but I can deal with everything from here." 

Phil makes a brilliant show of complete haughtiness, and Dan is even cowed a little at first, but Phil ruins the illusion spectacularly by tripping over his own feet a mere second after saying it. 

Dan's arms shoot out to catch him before he gets a face full of the lino, one of those broad hands spanning the center of his chest, the other on his back. 

"Clearly you haven't," Dan says, sounding put upon even as Phil pushes his hands away, "I suppose I'll have to make sure you get home safe. I won't be able to live with myself if you wander into traffic or something."

Phil huffs out of his nose, intending for it to sound like he doesn't need any help at all, but it just ends up sounding pathetic. 

The painkillers really are very good. 

Dan gets him into a taxi just as the sun is peeking over the horizon. Phil watches the world zip by the window in a pale pink-grey hue sliding in and out of focus before his own front door comes in to view. 

"How did you know where I lived?" Phil says, out of the taxi and fumbling for his keys that are definitely somewhere in this pocket. His hands are useless, a background of pain and awkward plaster are just the start, now his brain is having trouble remembering how to move his hands in the first place.

Dan gets a line between his brows that is really quite lovely and Phil reaches out to poke at it. Dan ducks out of the of a cumbersome cast being aimed at his head. 

"You told me, you nutter. When we got in the taxi." Dan bats at his arm gently and reaches over to slide his hand in to Phil's front pocket. The opposite one to the one he'd been searching. His blunt fingers feel amazing against Phil's thigh and if he wants to have another go at the snogging thing again, Phil would be up for it. 

"I can get home," Phil pronounces, again.

"It's less than ten feet away from us," Dan says. Keys jangle and Dan's hand is gone. "But I really don't think you actually can."

Dan pushes him up the short concrete path to the front door and Phil watches him unlock it. 

"Don't usually invite men home after the first date," Phil says.

Dan glares at him from the corner of his eyes, mouth tight. "We haven't had a date," he says. 

"Oh no." 

Phil feels a sinking sensation in his chest as Dan eases him down onto his own sofa. Dan has helped him home, and to the hospital, and he really is very very lovely, and Phil hasn't even taken him on a date. 

He drops his chin to his breastbone and makes a drawn out, "uhhh," sound, like a sob. 

"What?" Dan says, "are you in pain?"

"No," Phil wails, "but I snogged you."

"Oh. Well, cheers mate. Don't think that's ever made someone cry before."

"No," Phil says, reaching out to take Dan's face in his good hand because it's important that he listen and that he understand. "I snogged you and I brought you home and I haven't even taken you on a date." 

"Well, er—" 

"We can't have sex," Phil says, dropping his hand and meaning to cross his arms defiantly but finding he can't with the cast on his arm. 

Dan shuts his eyes for a second. He shakes his head, takes a breath, and then looks back at Phil. 

"You absolute prat," he says. It could be Phil's imagination, but he doesn't sound quite as annoyed as he might have. "As if I would even— _Obviously_." 

His words are clipped. Posh in his southern accent, and Phil smiles in the face of them. 

"So you'll let me take you on a date?" Phil says. 

Dan pushes at Phil's shoulder until he is resting against the back of the couch again. 

"I'm going to get you some water," Dan says, "and you are going to drink all of it." 

"I'm not drunk," Phil says. 

"No," Dan concedes. "But I reckon staying hydrated is still advisable when it comes to getting high on painkillers too." 

Phil sits up again, and Dan sighs. 

"Will you let me take you on a date then?" Phil says, with a faint recollection of having said it before.

"What are you even…" Dan's words are quiet, spoken mostly under his breath as he once again tries to get Phil to sit back into the cushions. Phil stays firm under his hands until Dan gives him an answer. "Yes fine, you complete spork, whatever. Just— sit down, will you?" 

Phil finally does. 

Dan fetches him a glass of water and while Phil stares at it, wondering how he's going to drink it without the use of his hands, concludes that trying to get him up the stairs to his room is far too much trouble and so Phil is just going to have to sleep here. 

Phil is too tired to argue. 

Dan takes his still-full glass, and sets it on the coffee table beside the blister packet of pills in the white paper bag from the hospital pharmacy. He disappears for a moment then comes back with Phil's green and blue duvet, draping it over Phil who has taken the opportunity to slump against the single scatter cushion and pick his feet up off the floor.

"How'd you know which was mine?" Phil says, eyes mostly closed. 

Dan smirks, small and tight and obviously not meant for Phil to see, "hazarded a guess," he says. 

Phil is too tired to work out what that means, or to contemplate the fact that a stranger is tucking him in. A stranger with big, nice hands, and a soft mouth. One with a posh voice that sounds like he's pissed off all the time. The final thought Phil has as he slips into sleep is that he wants to find out if that's really true.


	2. Chapter Two

Phil's hands hurt more than he thought was possible. Last night is a blur of pain and hazy medication memories. His back is aching from the shape of the sofa, and as he stretches his legs out, his feet collide with something firm and warm. 

"Ow! Oh my god, watch it." 

Phil raises his head, struggling to sit without the use of his hands, weight on his elbows. Dan is sat at the other end of the couch, the corner of Phil's duvet across his lap. 

His hair is curled at the ends and his eyes are heavy-lidded and sleepy. 

"Sorry," Phil says, meaning it. "Didn't know you were there."

"Well someone needed to check you didn't choke on your own tongue or something."

Phil has a vague memory of his behaviour last night and wants to hide his face, but his hands aren't currently available. 

"Well, no choking," Phil says, "I'm fine, everything is good." 

"Suppose I'll get out of your hair then." 

Dan levers himself up from the couch and Phil tries to do the same. He fails at his first attempt, falling back to the cushions with a 'oof', but manages to raise himself inelegantly the next time he tries. 

"Well that's pathetic," Dan says. 

"Just need to work on my tummy muscles," Phil says, "I'll have rock hard abs in no time." 

Dan raises an eyebrow and his gaze travels from what Phil is sure is the birds nest on top of his head, and down the full length of his body. Luckily, he's still mostly hidden underneath the duvet. It doesn't stop him wanting to squirm out from under the obvious once-over. 

"Your tablets are on the table, you should probably take some more."

Phil should probably say something about last night. About the fool he'd made of himself. Instead, he just nods and says he'll take them. 

Dan passes him the white and blue bag containing the boxes of tablets, and watches Phil struggle to get it open with useless, aching fingers. 

"Oh, give it here." 

Dan takes the bag from him, deftly opens the correct pills and pops the right dosage out onto the inside of Phil's hand. He picks up the glass from last night and holds it out, and only sighs a little when Phil can't hold it himself. 

Phil tips the tablets onto his tongue, and Dan guides water into Phil's mouth, carefully and delicately. He doesn't call Phil out for the bit that dribbles down his chin, but he does purse his lips as Phil swallows. 

"I hope your housemates are going to be okay with looking after you like a baby for a bit."

Phil shakes his head, turning to wipe his chin on his sleeve and hoping the tablets kick in soon. Everything hurts from his elbow downwards. They might make him act like a complete idiot, but there's no relief from the pain otherwise. 

"My housemates have gone home for the summer. I'm okay, though. The break is in the middle of one and the wrist of the other, I'm going back to get proper casts on in a few days so I'll be able to use my fingers then."

"How are you going to cope until then?" 

"I'll manage," Phil says. "Thank you for… you know, getting me home. Sorry I was—" 

Phil stops, and clears his throat. Dan looks down at his phone as if checking the time. 

"Yeah," Dan says, "whatever. It's fine." 

"Well, I'd see you out but…" he holds up his injured hands as evidence, "I don't think I have another sit-up in me quite yet."

Dan's eyes narrow. His lashes are thick, and the brown irises of his eyes are so deep, but there are flicks of amber in the centres that remind Phil of warm, thick honey. 

The tablets might be kicking in. 

"Right," Dan says.

Phil is on the couch, hands useless, brain foggy and uncoordinated. Dan is heading out of the door. 

"I, um, meant it," Phil says, to Dan's back. 

"Excuse me?" 

Dan is wearing all black. He's one long line from the backs of his shoes up to the pale peek of skin between his collar and hair. He's surly and sarcastic and devastating. Phil has absolutely no idea why he's saying what he's saying, no good can come of it. 

"About the date," Phil clarifies, "I meant it."

Dan's eyes do that narrowing thing again and his lips part. 

"Not now," Phil says, "obviously. When I'm better. I don't think I'd be much fun off my face on painkillers."

"You've had painkillers now," Dan says. 

"Suppose I have." 

Dan regards him silently, and Phil waits for an answer. His perception of time drags out longer than it probably takes, but Phil holds his breath, holds himself still, until Dan finally breaks. 

He breaks with a sigh. Like he's suffering through his answer despite himself. He walks the few paces over to the coffee table where Phil's phone is. He picks it up, and holds it out for Phil to enter his passcode. 

He does, with the tip of one sore, delicate fingertip. 

Dan taps at the screen, hair curling and flopping into his eyes. 

"There's my number," Dan says. "For when you're not under the influence of analgesics." 

"What if I want to use it before then?" Phil asks. 

It turns out meds also make him do stupid things. 

"I can't stop you, I suppose." 

Phil is satisfied with that, it's as good an answer as he's going to get out of the insufferable git. He doesn't know why he wants one in the first place. 

Pretty eyes and a soft mouth don't make up for being appalling company. At least, they shouldn't. 

"I'm going now," Dan informs him, "don't get into any more scrapes." 

"I'll try," Phil tells him, and means it.

* * *

**Dan:** just checking you're not dead

**Phil:** Dan! Yiu tedted me

**Dan:** is your typing always this bad or is it the casts

**Phil:** definiylte carts

**Dan:** ok you're not dead but your spelling sucks

**Phil:** Ti's teh csTds 

**Dan:** sure mate

**Phil:** doeS thsi mean were firedns nw?


	3. Chapter Three

The really strong painkillers only last a couple of days and then he's just left with paracetamol. He gets the full casts on and opts for green on one arm and blue on the other. The doctor had suggested he get them matching, but Phil knows who he is.

Even though the proper casts offer him a bit of support so that he's able to flex his fingers, he's still a bit miserable given that he can't hold a playstation controller, or do much on his phone besides scroll with the end of one finger and tap out nonsensical texts. 

He manages to find a sports bottle in the cupboard that definitely belongs to one of his housemates, and he can hold it tentatively against the palm of his casts and tip it up like a child with a sippy cup, so he's able, at least, to keep himself hydrated. Getting dressed is a nightmare, pretty much everything else requires levels of contortion and more dexterity with his elbows than he'd ever thought possible, but he's getting by. He's tired, and irritable, but he's getting by. 

Dan hasn't text him again, not since that first time, but Phil hadn't really expected him to. Drug and alcohol haze aside, he's aware that Dan is just some guy that helped him - reluctantly - in his hour of need. No need to over egg what was a passing association at best. 

Phil is toying with just giving in and going home. God knows his parents would have him back in a heartbeat, his mum had nearly come here herself until Phil had managed to talk her down.

The idea of being babied over the summer is kind of nice, and he knows that she would be willing to take care of him like she did when he was little, but something in his head is telling him that he should be able to do this alone. He's an adult, almost, and adults don't go running home to their mummy every time something gets tough. 

Still, it's getting him down more and more every day. Things are difficult, little things, and he's so tired by the end of the day. 

Which is why when there is a knock on his door only a mere week after the accident, Phil hopes that it is someone who might offer some relief from the pain and annoyance of having both hands in casts. 

It isn't, it's Dan. 

"Oh," Phil says, instead of a proper greeting. 

"Hello to you too," Dan says. 

Phil is twisted. He had to use his elbow to open the door, and his aching fingers to turn the key, slowly, so his body is at an odd angle, but he steps sideways to allow Dan to enter.

"Sorry," Phil says, "I wasn't expecting you." 

Dan steps into his house, looking Phil up and down. Phil is wearing his dressing gown over a bare chest, and the jogging bottoms he's had on for a few days now. Showering that first time had been excruciating, holding his arms out of the spray and hoping the water might be enough to clean him a little. Thank god for the long handled loofah he had been gifted one Christmas, held between his elbows and angling himself out of the shower stream, he had managed to get himself mostly scrubbed. Except his hair, which he's positive is a complete disaster. 

"Well don't you look… pitiful." 

Phil scowls. "Did you just come.here to insult me?" 

Dan's brow twitches, and he shakes.his head minutely, "no."

"Then what did you come here for?" 

"I brought stuff," Dan says, holding a bag aloft. 

It turns out Dan has brought him some shower guards, plasticky things he can put over his casts so that he might be able to have a bath. Which, now Phil thinks about it, will probably be more effective than the shower. He's also brought snacks and some ingredients to make Phil a dinner that he won't be able to manage himself. 

The thing about Dan is that he's infuriating. He's all sarcasm and raised eyebrows, judging Phil with a simple look and the wave of a dismissive hand, but Phil still finds him unbelievably attractive and just kind of… interesting. He wants to dig down underneath his hard outer shell and see what kind of person would go to all the trouble of bringing aid to someone they don't know, but continue to be combative the entire time. 

"You don't have to feel guilty," Phil says. 

Dan is in the kitchen, chopping vegetables amidst the mess Phil has made with microwave meals over the past couple of days. 

"Guilty?" 

"Yeah, for the whole… thing." He raises his casts by way of explanation. 

"Oh, I don't," Dan assures him, barely glancing over his shoulder. 

"Then why are you—" Phil sighs, "forget it." 

"Are you always this stubborn?" 

Dan turns, knife in his hand, and levels Phil with the kind of stare he'd expect from his mum but not from cute boys in his kitchen. 

"What?" 

"You are," Dan says, "just go sit down so you don't do yourself another injury."

"I didn't do myself the injury," Phil points out, but he does as Dan says. 

Dan brings over his laptop and he loads up a movie without asking, shoving a plate of food into Phil's hands, already cut up so all he has to do is hold a spoon loosely in his fingers and scoop it into his mouth. It's like he's a child, and he resents it, but he can't pretend it isn't nice to be waited on after the past few days. 

When the movie is finished and Dan is leaving, he lingers in the doorway and says, "can you do everything yourself now?"

"I could anyway," Phil tells him, "I didn't ask you to come." 

Dan clicks his tongue, prissy and annoyed. "Thought I'd save you the trouble," he says. Which makes no sense.

"Well…" and Phil wants to say something cutting, to keep the banter they have going, but his mum brought him up to be polite so what comes out is, "thank you."

Dan nods, a singular jerk of his head, and then leaves Phil to his evening. 

He really is very attractive. So much so that when Phil is laying in bed that night, trying to get past the dull pain in his wrists, his mind drifts to the curve of Dan's mouth and the smart things that come out of it. He thinks about how he might shut him up, give him something else to do with that clever tongue, and all too soon he is distracted by the throbbing ache of his own cock hard in his pyjamas. 

He tries pressing his fingers against it to relieve the pressure but it's no good, it only serves to send a jolt of pain up his injured hand and he pulls it away sharply. The other hand is much the same. 

Phil rolls over onto his front, pressing his hips into the bed, and whines at the relief. 

He thinks about Dan on his knees, sucking his cock. He imagines how his hair would feel under his fingers, curly like it was when he left the other day rather than straighten as it had been earlier. He thinks of that sharp wit and focus directed to the diligent work of moving around Phil fucking his throat, the sounds he might make. He imagines him needy and helpless, taking what Phil gives him. 

He's rutting into his mattress, hips jerking and pushing his aching cock against the resistance over and over. He squeezes his eyes shut and comes with a grunt and a flood of wetness in his pants, the fantasy of Dan licking it off him flitting through his head as he comes down. 

He has to get up to clean himself off hurriedly with a hand towel shoved under the warm tap. This isn't a process he wants to repeat, the sheer effort of it is enough to make him want to just abstain from any and all orgasms as long as his hands are out of commission. However good it has been at just the idea of Dan. 

When he's done, and in clean pyjama bottoms, he picks up his phone as it vibrates. 

**Dan:** did today fulfill your need for pity dates?

**Phil:** pity date?

**Dan:** you said you wanted to take me on a date I assume as a thank you but now you dont have to

**Phil:** it wasn't just as a thank you. I want to take you out for real!

**Dan:** your typing is getting better

**Phil:** I'm telling siri what to type

**Dan:** when the robots rise up I'm blaming you for whatever weird things you're teaching her

**Phil:** lol

Phil pauses, slipping down into his bed pillow and sighing softly. His cheeks feel vaguely hot with the knowledge that he just got off to the thought of him, and here was Dan thinking today had been a date.

**Phil:** Anyway, it wasn't a date

**Dan:** no?

**Phil:** No, when it is a date you'll know


	4. Chapter Four

Phil's hair is getting to the point that he can stand it on end without the need for products. It's a sight in the mornings, batted down by the side of one cast, flipped up off his forehead because leaving it there means it lies flat and slick and stuck to his skin. He needs to wash it properly, do more than let the water from the shower run over it while his useless hands are covered in cumbersome plastic wrappings, but he can't figure out how. 

He could always book an appointment somewhere. Having his arms in casts doesn't preclude him from going outside but the idea of making a phone call and asking for an appointment for someone to wash his hair is frankly, embarrassing. 

Phil is beginning to feel helpless, bitter and angry, and he walks around his empty house fumbling through everything he needs to do and spending way too long in bed watching things on his laptop. He drags himself up when the doorbell sounds, but his hair is matted mess, his skin pale and his expression dark. 

"Going to invite me in?" 

Phil huffs. It starts out as a sigh but turns into a laugh on it's way out, bemused to find Dan once again on his doorstep. 

"Why are you here?" 

He steps aside anyway, and Dan barrels past. 

"I don't have to be here," Dan says, "if you'd rather be all alone and unable to look after yourself." 

"I can look after myself," Phil tells him. He wants to cross his arms across his chest defiantly, but the casts won't allow him to, so he settles for closing the door with his shoulder and frowning. 

"Sure you can," Dan says, "you're looking real taken care of." 

"I'm fine," Phil says.

Dan raises a single eyebrow, the right one, and steps up close to Phil. It's so unexpected that Phil has to swallow down a gasp. Dan's hand pushes into the front of his hair, blunt fingertips against his scalp, and Phil lets his eyes flutter shut for just a second before wrenching them back open. 

"This is greasy as heck," Dan says. 

Phil shrugs him off, an indignant sound making its way out where there might have been a gasp, or a groan. It's easier to pretend he's getting hot and bothered because he's pissed at Dan, because Dan irritates the fuck out of him, than it is to admit that his joggers suddenly feel a little tight at just the touch of his hand. 

"You try washing your hair with no hands," Phil points out. 

Dan's eyes widen for half a second, the amber within sparking with something fierce and challenging. A slow smile makes its way onto his face, twisting his mouth into an expression that Phil shouldn't be attracted to considering he looks a bit like like he's scheming something menacing, but ever since the mental image of Dan fuelled a bed-rutting mind-wiping orgasm for him, Phil hasn't been able to stop thinking about him. 

"I'll wash your hair for you," Dan says. He just offers, like that. "Since you're so pathetic." 

And there it is. Phil knew he wasn't going to get away with an offer of help without an insult attached. His cheeks flare hot and he has to look down at his feet because there is something different to Dan being mean to him now, something alluring. Dan infuriates him, sure, but Phil kind of likes how much he gets his blood flowing, heart pumping, how that anger turns dark and throbbing as quickly as it pisses him off. 

"I'm not a charity case," Phil tells him, "I don't need your help." 

"Kind of looks like you do." 

Dan's hand lifts again but Phil steps out from underneath it. He thinks again of Dan's hand in his hair, how the mere touch of his fingers sent ripples of sensation over his scalp. He never thought he had a particularly sensitive head, even though he has liked it when people played with his hair in the past, but it's opening up all kinds of possibilities. Would it really be that bad if he just accepted the help? 

Clean hair would feel amazing, Dan's fingers would feel amazing, he isn't going to lie to himself about how attracted he is to Dan. He doesn't have a leg to stand on now that he's gotten off thinking about him. Dan does piss him off, he's the most irritating person Phil has ever met, but he's also one of the most attractive. And Phil can still remember what his mouth tastes like. 

"Fine," Phil mumbles. 

"What was that?" 

"I said fine," Phil says, "you can wash my hair." 

Dan licks his bottom lip and Phil tracks the movement with his eyes before shaking his head and leading Dan to the bathroom. 

"I guess I just… kneel on the floor?" 

"You can get in the bath," Dan says, laughing at him as though Phil is cute for being embarrassed. "I don't mind." 

"I…" Phil sighs, "you're taking the piss." 

Dan shrugs, "if you like." 

Phil pushes his tongue against his teeth and a muscle in his jaw twitches. If that is the way Dan wants to play it, then Phil isn't going to let him off easy. He pulls at the cord on his dressing gown and it falls open over his bare chest. He shrugs out of it, letting it pool on the floor at his feet. 

Then he wiggles out of his jogging bottoms. It isn't as smooth given he can't use his hands, but when Phil looks up wearing just his boxers, Dan is staring at him, unblinking. 

"I think the bath is an excellent idea," Phil says. 

Dan's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and Phil steps into the bath, carefully sitting down in the bottom of it, back to the taps, and indicating to the shower head and the bottle of shampoo. 

"Go on then, get scrubbing."

Dan clears his throat. He flexes a hand at his side just once, and then takes his jacket off, letting it drop to the floor beside Phil's robe. 

He presses the button to activate the shower, angling the spray away from Phil while it warms up. 

"Hands out of the way," Dan says. 

Phil rests his arms on the sides of the bath where the water won't reach and he tips his head back in anticipation. 

When the water first cascades over his head, Phil sighs in relief. It is warm, and pleasant, and Dan follows the path of the spray with his fingers, pushing them into the wet strands of his hair. 

He lifts Phil's hair around his ears, scratching into the nape of his neck to ensure the water penetrates all the way through to his scalp. Phil shivers with the pleasure of it, like an itch he hasn't been able to reach in weeks. 

He hears the cap of the shampoo bottle, the gentle sigh as Dan squeezes some onto his palm, and then those broad palms and blunt fingers are massaging aids into his scalp and the air is full of the scent of fruity, clean soap in a cloud of humid steam. 

Phil sighs, satisfied, without realising and Dan chuckles at him. 

"Having fun?" 

"S'nice," Phil says, honestly. "Feels good." 

Dan doesn't respond, just keeps massaging at Phil's head. 

It feels so good that Phil sinks into it. His eyes have shut but he can picture Dan doing what he's doing, bending over him in the bath and touching him. It prickles, where he's being touched, like goosebumps and butterflies. 

It feels so good that he begins to feel more affected than he would like for what little clothing he's wearing. 

The water is focused mostly on his head, but it runs down his shoulder blades, bubbles in his shoulders, and his boxers are damp where the water has splashed. 

Dan finishes with the shampoo and directs the water onto his head once again to rinse. His hands are everywhere, and Phil is losing track. They stroke behind his ears, over the nape of his neck. Phil feels the bubbles slide away until there is only water cascading down him. The angle of the spray changes and soon Dan's hands aren't just in his hair, the warm water is making it's way over his shoulders, his chest, and Dan's hands are following the path of it. 

They slide over his skin, rubbing away the tension built up in his muscles, and Phil moans shamelessly, feeling himself harden.

"Shit," he says, eyes flying open, "sorry." 

"Why?" Dan asks. 

Phil shifts to try and hide his hard-on and Dan smirks at him. 

"No need to be sorry," Dan says. "How long has it been since you… I imagine it's difficult with your hands like that." 

"I… managed," Phil says, "once."

"Once, huh? That enough for you, Phil?" 

"I…" 

Dan's hands haven't stopped, the water hasn't stopped. Dan sweeps his fingers through the dip between Phil's shoulder blades, down to the curve of his waist, and Phil finds himself leaning into it. 

"I could… if you're uncomfortable," Dan says. 

Phil is distracted by Dan's hands and the warm cascade of water so much that he doesn't catch what Dan is implying until the water shuts off and Dan's hand slides down the front of his chest. 

The slick slide where his body is wet making it easy for him to stroke through Phil's chest hair, passing fingers over his nipple. 

Phil moans, and all of a sudden he gets it. 

"I don't think…" he says, while Dan.moves over to the other nipple, "that's a… a good… idea." 

"No?" 

"I'm fine," Phil says. 

"Phil," Dan says, hand wandering further down his chest to flick over the bulge in his pants. "It's okay." 

Phil's hips buck, pushing into the tease of Dan's touch, and Dan chuckles low in his ear. 

"Relax," Dan tells him, "I told you, I came to look after you." 

Phil Rios his head back a bit further, and it comes into contact with Dan who is leaning over him. In the same moment, Dan slides.his hand into Phil's underwear and draws his cock out. He takes him in hand, board palm spanning the length of him as much as it can.

"Shit," Phil says, unexpectedly. 

"Impressive," Dan says, squeezing around the base of his cock and stroking up to the tip. 

"Ah- thanks." 

Dan moves his hand a few move times and Phil can already feel his balls drawing up tight, the tension coiling in his abdomen. 

"This isn't going to take long," Phil warns him. 

"I'm going to take it as a compliment," Dan says, laughing.

"You would," Phil shoots back, "no need to feel smug. It's just- oh God- it's been a while."

"Sure?" Dan says, "maybe you're always this easy." 

He twists his wrist and Phil can't help but thrust into the grip of his hand, to chase each sensation as quickly as Dan is doing them out. 

"Fuck you," Phil says, "I usually have excellent stamina. Under normal circumstances." 

"Sure," Dan agrees, "maybe you can prove it to me one day." 

Phil moans. He's still got his head pressed against Dan, but his eyes are shut and his body is undulating with the rhythm of Dan's strokes. 

"I'm-" Phil says, sharply. 

And Dan just hums and speeds his hand up, focussing the attention on the sensitive head of his cock. Phil bucks, moans, and comes, spilling out over his own thighs, boxers, and Dan's hand. 

The orgasm shudders through him, he feels it wind up from his balls all the way through his dick, but also down to his toes and the tips of his fingers. He shakes and and twitches, face twisting and then relaxing as he comes down. 

Dan picks up the shower head once again and cleans him off with gentle movements. Phil watches, his arms still stretched out on the bath, and sighs when Dan tucks him back into Dan sodden underwear. 

"Good?" Dan asks. 

"Yeah, uh… thanks." 

"Don't mention it." 

Phil feels awkward for a moment, but then Dab slings an arm around him and helps him out of the bath and it stops being all that awkward. He lets Dan help him back into his dressing gown, and then goes to his room to get changed into something dry. 

Dan settles on his couch and he's got a movie pulled up when Phil emerges. Phil contemplates offering something to Dan in return, but Dan looks content enough and Phil doesn't know how to broach the subject so instead he just orders pizza and they watch a movie together. 

Dan leaves later and neither of them mention it again. He is still just as irritating, just as sarcastic and a bit of a dick, so that hasn't changed Phil thinks it's best if he ignores it all, honestly, because he doesn't know what he would say if he tried. 

At least now, when he feels the need to get himself off to the thought of Dan, he'll have a lovely memory to go along with it.

* * *

**Dan:** today could count as your date 

**Phil:** Nope

**Dan:** why?

**Phil:** As enjoyable as it was, that isn't how my dates usually go

**Dan:** sounds like you've been on a lot of bad dates

**Phil:** Maybe. You can tell me whether I'm a bad date after we have one

**Dan:** fine.


End file.
